


aprons

by civillove



Series: brio prompts from tumblr [23]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22654891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: this is entirely Lauren's fault from conversations about Rio in an apron.--this would fit into the 'Mug Half Full' brio coffee shop AU universe
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: brio prompts from tumblr [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1496387
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	aprons

This falls into the [coffee shop AU land](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20054953) but you probably don’t have to read that first unless you really want to.

\--

Beth knows the original plan involved her working the cash register while Rio handles a number of other seedy jobs in the back with Aviles. She knows it has to do with washing cash, with rubber banding wads and placing them in black duffle bags that circle between sets of hands before ending back into this café.

There’s a safe in Rio’s office, past the kitchen, that she’s seen in passing but that’s as close as she’s gotten to helping out with that side of his business. She’s mostly the front woman, the pretty face, the wide smile and bright eyes as she makes coffee orders for anyone that wanders in.

She’s not even allowed to bake, which is almost funny, seeing as how someone on the PTA is always trying to pull her in for cinnamon rolls, pumpkin cupcakes or cheesecake bites for bake sales. Having a break from the kitchen is nice; she gets to focus on trying to hone other skills that she hasn’t mastered yet—like the dreaded cappuccino machine.

Beth scrunches her nose as it hisses when she tries to slip two mugs out from underneath the nozzles; she _swears_ this thing has it out for her. She’s already got a collection of cuts and scars from machine malfunctions—

_Beth huffs out a soft noise when Rio captures her wrist between his fingers, “You know the point is to make coffee with the machinery, not have a fist fight.”_

_She glares at him, “I was moving fast, it’s not my fault the nozzle sticks out a little further than it should. Ow.”_

_“Sorry,” Rio mutters but it doesn’t sound like he is, his thumbs a little too rough against the raw, sore skin of her knuckles. “You’re not gonna file for workman’s comp, are you?”_

_“Depends on how nice you are to me for the rest of the day.”_

_“Well in that case,” He pulls a box of Band-Aids out from under the register and they are most_ definitely _decorated with different kinds of dinosaurs. Her mouth quirks into a soft smile as she thinks about Marcus, her eyes flickering up to his handsome father. “Raptor or T-Rex?”_

It’s not that Beth doesn’t enjoy working in the coffee shop, she does…but lately she’s been wondering what else is going on behind closed doors, in the meetings Rio won’t let her attend. She chews on her lip and tries to convince herself that she’s satisfied but, can anyone truly fault her for wanting more?

That’s how she ended up working at this coffee shop in the first place.

She sighs as she helps Aviles close up the shop for the night; cleaning tables and flipping chairs upside down so she can sweep the floor. She wanders across the shop to flip the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ before locking the door with her set of keys.

“I got these last few, Ms. Boland.” Aviles motions to the few tables near the bathroom, “You should count the register.”

“Please for the last time,” She smiles as she curls her hair around her ear. “Call me Beth.” She pops the drawer open and begins counting cash, filtering out large bills and fixing the till so there’s a smaller amount to start out with tomorrow morning.

It takes her a few moments but she eventually zips up the money pouch with her mouth to use her other hand to close the register, glancing over the bakery counter to see what she needs to switch out for fresh goods.

Speaking of—

“Is he in the back?”

Aviles slips his leather jacket on after finishing up the floor sweep and nods, “He’s still in the kitchen. Orange scones don’t make themselves.”

She chuckles softly and opens the door to let him out the front, “Yeah, yeah, just ask him.” She grins and offers a soft wave, “See you tomorrow.”

Beth locks up again as Aviles disappears across the street and finishes a few tasks behind the counter. She boxes up older pastries; some to take home, some to donate to a homeless shelter a few blocks over and puts a few mugs in the sink that she can take care of tomorrow. She’s got one thing on her mind and she hopes that Rio’s in a good enough mood to entertain her.

She carries the money pouch back and pushes the kitchen door open with her hip, a heady scent of fresh oranges, pastry and chocolate wafting to her nose. It’s strong enough to nearly knock her off her feet and it takes everything in her to ground herself in not offering to become Rio’s taster as he takes a fresh batch out of the oven.

“Chocolate and orange?” She asks, wandering over to the table he’s at.

His back is to her because he’s facing the oven and once he closes it, he turns to set down another tray that he has to drizzle icing over. He hums in response, not bothering to look up at her to concentrate on the task at hand—which is fine, because Beth is too busy _staring_ at him to have a proper conversation.

He’s dressed in his usual black on black (which somehow always surprises her when the man works with flour consistently throughout the day, yet he always looks pristine) but there’s a different accessory around his waist.

It’s an apron.

A full chest apron that’s tied around his neck and looped gently around his lean waist, almost hanging a little low on his hips.

Beth really didn’t ask to be accosted with this image before she went home.

“Somethin’ you needed?” He asks, looking up at her after he grabs an icing bag.

She hates that a squeak most definitely leaves her mouth before she tries to hide it by clearing her throat, “What? Oh. Money pouch.”

Rio raises his eyebrows because _what?_ And glances down at the pouch in her hand before he fixes one of his sleeves. Not only does he have on an off-white apron that is slamming domestic thoughts into her head, and she can clearly _see_ a smaller apron hanging up near his office that’s sky blue and has to be Marcus’s, but he’s also got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

The muscles of his forearms are on a clear display, especially when he squeezes the icing bag to drizzle strands of white onto the orange scones. She clears her throat, trying to shake imagery that’s starting to play in front of her eyes.

“I got the money pouch from the register for the night and I wanted to talk to you about something—is it hot in here?” The words slip messily from her lips as she pulls her hair aside and rubs the side of her neck.

A smirk graces Rio’s lips, “You wanted to talk to me about the temperature of the kitchen?” He sets the icing bag down and leans his hands against the edge of the counter, giving her his full attention.

Beth blinks, her mouth suddenly a little dry. What did she want to talk to him about again? Her fingers squeeze the money pouch before she sets it down next to his trays of scones—oh, right.

“I wanted to talk to you about a promotion.”

Rio chews the one side of his cheek before letting out a slow sigh, “You already talked your way into workin’ here, isn’t that enough?”

She pouts, steeling herself because, “No, that’s not enough. I want more.” Beth realizes vaguely that she’s talking to a gang leader who most definitely carries a gold gun most of the time in the back waistband of his jeans.

He holds her gaze for a long moment, teetering on a few emotions that always seem to play war with one another on his face. He’s caught between being annoyed with her and being impressed. Rio rounds the counter slowly, moving to stand in front of her and crosses his arms over his chest.

What a dick move; her eyes zero in on the tensing of his muscles, thinks too much about what they’d look like straining over her. She traces the outline of his apron, wanting to move forward and tug at the strings to take it off…and yet she also wonders what he’d look like wearing the apron and nothing else.

He tilts his head slightly to look at her, to catch her gaze, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest. Rio takes a step forward, his hand moving to tease with the curl by her cheekbone. “How much more?”

Her fingers tremble, ever so slightly, as she reaches her hand up and plays with the apron string around his neck. Her thumb purposely brushes against his throat, along the wingspan of his bird tattoo, and Rio shivers.

“Everything. I want to be partners.”

She has zero explanation for what happens next and she blames it entirely on the scented thrill of orange scones and stupid aprons but she leans up on her toes and kisses him. It’s a little too hard, too forced, the smashing of lips and the clicking of teeth but Rio adapts seamlessly—like he almost expected her to do this.

He wraps an arm around her waist, tugging her against his chest, kissing low and deep and drawing her tongue into his mouth. He’s not gentle when he touches her, which she somehow always appreciates; so many people in her life treat her like she’s going to shatter with even the slightest amount of pressure.

She moans into his mouth, slipping her one leg a little haphazardly between his thighs; he’s already half hard. Rio moves her quickly, backs her up against a lower table so he can lift her up onto it, slipping in-between her legs. She’s never been happier about the dress she has on, trying to quickly grab the bottom and yank it without ripping the fabric. His lips have moved to her neck, mapping open mouthed kisses against her skin that cause an unbearable heat at her core.

She tries not to whimper outright, a shiver coursing down her spine as he pulls back to undo his apron—

“Don’t,” She says quickly, a surprising amount of strength in her tone. Rio’s eyes find hers, his breath coming in quick, lips kissed a sinful shade of red. “Keep it on.”

She can feel the moment a ripple of arousal courses through his body; the way his shoulders straighten, the way his fingers dig into her sides as he inches her forward. He reaches up and under the apron to undo his jeans, sliding them down as quickly as he can. He keeps a hand on her at the exact same time as he tries to keep his balance.

The ache in her core nearly explodes outward as he slides himself into her, a strangled moan leaving her throat before his lips find hers again.

“ _Fuck,”_ She moans out, her fingers gathering the fabric of his shirt, nearly reaching down his back to grab at the strings of the apron—though she doesn’t want to accidently pull and choke him.

He seems to follow her thought process, a short breath that sounds like a chuckle emptying into her mouth, “Easy on the strings, ma. Don’t think we’re at that point in this relationship yet.”

Beth wants to laugh but she can’t seem to make any other noise other than a groan, wanting him to quicken his pace. She’s not above begging but she forces herself to bite her bottom lip so she doesn’t. It doesn’t take her long to reach her peak, Rio pushing her over the edge when he nips at her neck with his teeth.

She cums, hard, the sensation swaying through her body as her hips rock forward. He kisses her shoulder a few times before he pulls back and she feels entirely too empty without him so close, her legs squeezing tight as she smooths her dress back down over her knees.

Rio takes his time to pull his jeans back up, his bare legs against the stark contrast of the off-white apron making her lick her lips. He sighs and eventually, when he’s fully clothed, undoes the apron and tosses it to the side, his hands finding his hips.

“Well,” He drawls, his speech lazy, “That’s definitely a few health code violations,” Though he doesn’t sound upset at the thought. “I’ll need to make fresh pastries.”

He crosses to the scones on the tray and grabs two of them, putting one in her hand as he finds his way back to her. It’s still warm, icing slipping down and pressing into the skin of her palm.

“Partners? What does that look like?” He bites into the pastry, some of it flaking against the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure you got ideas, opinions, color-coded diagrams.” Rio quips but he knows her.

Beth grins and takes a bite of her own scone.


End file.
